Featured Poems

Every Woman I’ve Ever Loved

by on November 20, 2017 :: 0 comments

The sun and the moon were her eyes
The bright stars were every smile she gave
She was the depth of darkness in between
and her voice echoed before she spoke

Our dreams rhymed and we visited from time to time
it was always a surprise and it was always sublime
The sun and the moon were her eyes
Under her gaze I could burn and I could glide

She was a bird in my arms and when she sang
I listened but could not understand
She wept the darkness of night
so a stone cast into the sky would be swallowed by her tears

The sun and the moon were her eyes
and they were exactly distant from mine
In her smile every bright star glowed
and flowers grew in her laughter

She bit like an avalanche when I walked the road from her heart
The sun and the moon collided and the stars were washed black
The depth of night became thin as her taught lips
When she spoke the words I knew before she spoke

The sun and the moon were her eyes

– Lot Grundy

editors note:

Forlorn lover, seeking light; tossed by tandem eclipses into lonely night.  – mh clay

Migratory text

by on November 19, 2017 :: 0 comments

Ritual journey, known trip
unknown. Tunnel behind,

vaginal, dim. Locked
in memory, blissful ride

amid anemone, cosmos,
buttercup, rose. Lover

now silent, breathing low,
thumbs busy on her phone.

editors note:

Oh, the pain; she’s about to swipe left. – mh clay

Remember

by on November 18, 2017 :: 0 comments

you must be humble
inside the flame

breath deep
laugh
make love
tumble to ash

and let the tears
find their own way
home

– Josh Weir

editors note:

Lest we forget… – mh clay

The night Mother Stepped into Space

by on November 17, 2017 :: 0 comments

Def: of height, depth, and width within which all things exist and move

Wild dreams
Rocket ships
with missing seatbelts
soaked sheets
and
astral projections
shed her
of her
constraints
middle aged
suitcase
carriage ride
blasts
away

mother dreams of this
his hands
picking strings
around her fairytale face

cheese wheel moon
takes her soon
sailing on star trail tail of
wistfulness
behind the sun
tin foil suit crackling away
from celestial maid
body
and she slides
glides
between Styrofoam
meteorites
in invisible arms
opens her mouth
and swallows
the milky way black soup of asteroids
mother laughs
her toes tickled trans Neptunian
night gown sizzling away

mother dreams of this
Star Trek sonar ping
Lullabies
The darkness of dark
twinkling
Shine
Saturn is a turntable
And the tune
Is all right
In flight
At her feet
Tiny earth shrinks
Away
Through the straw
Of her view
Her Ephemeris
Arching
Sublimely

editors note:

A sad blastoff for us behind, a new frontier for them. Yes! – mh clay

Evacuated brain

by on November 16, 2017 :: 0 comments

Grinding,
In a vortex,
Flour of my mind,
Dough, and spin.
Loosing free the skeins
Of: a thought.
Experience ink.

Reminded
Memory of the day,
Like Hydra walk.
Looking for veins to suck
Needle my skin.
Stranded I walk bleeding,
As you ravish me
On the way.

Blood,
That coagulates
On my feet, slimy
and slippery, I end:
With spindle yarn
Of leeches: a rein
Controlling my
Evacuated brain.

editors note:

No brains, no headache? No matter, everything is empty in the end. – mh clay

thoughts late at night at an open mic

by on November 15, 2017 :: 0 comments

the wounded, the limited and the damned
the stage hogs who speak tritely
singers who announce histories of songs
before ruining them
messianic nuts who read terrible poetry
and believe they’re
announcing cosmic events. poets who
dance and scream bile
with drums, tambourines, castanettes
on tapes m.c.’s must play.
tuneless guitarists, cliché-muttering
nuts thinking they’re
doing a talking blues, little birds
tweeting around their
skulls, and more. democratic ideals
are always good
but theory and practice are always different.

editors note:

Yes. Ever seeking to rise above, one’s best is another’s bust. – mh clay

Looking for Trouble

by on November 14, 2017 :: 0 comments

The heart wants what it wants
And the cock longs
For what it desires.

The subject is not always
The same,
Though it might
Overlap.

Great if it does,
If not, trouble,
For the heart must have
And so must the worm.

editors note:

Though the heart may not, the worm always will. – mh clay